Wake Me Up Inside
by Bitrektual
Summary: "You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?" he asked. "He was the only friend I made during the two years I was at college." "Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel. It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective."


Pain shot through Sherlock's ankle as he felt his leg pull out from beneath him suddenly. His books fell unceremoniously to the ground when his hands reached out to react and break his fall. The bull terrier was attached very firmly to his leg, and Sherlock shouted in surprise and pain as it tore open his trouser leg and badly broke the skin on his ankle. For a moment he was frozen in panic, kicking his leg at the dog to try and get it to let him go.

"No! Bad dog!" came a distant voice and before Sherlock knew what was happening, there are someone beside him, pulling the dog off. A young man who looked to be the same age as him, Sherlock watched him call the animal off and tie to a stationary object before returning to Sherlock's side. The young man's natural instinct was to pull away, but his motion to crawl back was halted by the pain in his ankle. "No, no. Don't move, you might make it worse," the stranger advised, holding his hands out at Sherlock's startled expression.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked, exasperated. He'd just been walking to chapel to do a little reading where it was quiet, and the next thing he knew, he'd been attacked by a dog. He sat up and gingerly examined his leg, wincing at the heavy blood flow and placing his hand over the injury to try and still it some.

"My name is Victor, Victor Trevor. I'm so sorry about Tucker, he's never bitten anybody before," he man apologized sincerely. Victor pulled off his scarf and made to wrap Sherlock's ankle in it. "Look, we need to get you to a doctor. I'll pay for everything, I am so sorry!" Victor continued to apologize, and Sherlock zoned it out as he let Victor wrap the scarf snugly around the wound then help him to his feet. Or foot.

"Ow, I can't put any weight on it," Sherlock realized immediately, before he'd even bothered trying. The movement alone felt like the dog was still biting him, and he didn't dare try to walk on it. Victor was already supporting Sherlock, though, and the pair slowly made their way to a nearby bench. Sherlock sat there a moment to recover, and Victor quickly gathered up Sherlock's fallen textbooks. The auburn-haired young man watched in confusion, startled at Victor's kindness. Didn't he know who he was? Sherlock's reputation wasn't nearly as big as he believed, but it felt as though everyone at the college hated him due to the amount of bullying he'd already suffered.

"Okay, come on. I'll carry your books, let's get you to the nurse," he said, helping Sherlock up and supporting him all the way up to the doctor's office. There, he sat with Sherlock while the doctor cleaned and stitched his ankle. The whole time, Sherlock studied Victor curiously. The man had a nervousness about him that reminded Sherlock of himself in a sense, and he wondered if this fellow struggled with friendships as well, for they both seemed a little socially awkward.

He was good looking enough, Sherlock noticed. Tall, perhaps even taller than Sherlock just a little. Sherlock's gaze traveled along the man's cheekbones, and down along his neck, studying his clothing and determining him to be a man from a wealthy upbringing. Sherlock felt shabby in his own clothes, which were second-hand as he barely managed his way through Oxford. They were from completely different social classes. No doubt Victor had grown up in the city, where Sherlock's life had sprouted in the country. So why did he feel comfortable in someone's company for the first time in his life?

"Okay, I've stitched it up. You're lucky, if the dog had pulled any harder, it would have sprained the ankle. It'll be swollen for a few days, and you'll need crutches for a couple weeks. But you should be fine," the doctor said in his typical upbeat tone. Sherlock just wanted to get out, and accepted the crutches and painkillers, before making his way out into the street with Victor not far behind, carrying his books. As they walked, Sherlock grieved in his mind that their companionship was about to meet an end. But when they stopped on the sidewalk, Victor looked to him with a smile.

"I can carry your books to your room for you, if you like. Any help you need at all, you can call me. I swear Tucker isn't a bad dog," Victor spoke so sincerely, that Sherlock couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. It was mirrored by a smile on Victor's own lips, and Sherlock nodded his consent to have Victor's help. Slowly, they made their way to Sherlock's flat and made small talk. Sherlock didn't dare to hope this man could be a friend, but he would enjoy his company while it lasted.


End file.
